Christmas Baking – A Spiritual Exercise

Aunt Bernie

          It all started with a Facebook posting by my cousin Teresa. Teresa had been baking Christmas cookies all day, so she proudly posted a picture of her work, giving full credit to her grandmother, my Great Aunt Bernie on my mother’s side. Then the comments came flooding in. Forty-two of them to be exact. Several cousins reminisced about Aunt Bernie’s Christmas cookies. I longed for her peanut butter cookies with the Hershey’s Kiss on top (still waiting, Teresa). Lenny recalled a walnut cake that was so good that he accused Aunt Bernie of putting illegal drugs in them. She didn't get it. Aunt Anne told a funny story about my Great Aunt Sadie’s chocolate cake, and remembered Aunt Bernie’s crocheted afghans. Several of us chimed in about how the afghans she made us are still going strong. I praised Aunt Bernie’s meringue cookies, but was reminded by my sister Kerry that they came from our Great Aunt Etta. Then we both sang the praises of Aunt Etta’s date nut bread. Who would have thought that a little Christmas baking would be such a powerful spiritual exercise?

            When I speak of spirituality, I’m talking about our connectedness with others, with the universe and with God. Our spirituality transcends time and space; it makes our past present and links us to the future. That’s why Christmas baking is a spiritual exercise. Teresa connected with her grandmother by baking her Christmas cookies. She connected with her cousins when she posted the picture of those cookies on Facebook. And in forty-two comments, we all connected with each other, with Aunt Bernie, Aunt Sadie and Aunt Etta. This wasn't simply an exercise of memory. It was a real connection with real people. It was a warm smile, soft chuckle, lump in the throat moment made possible by the inspiration of a loving God who connects us all. And it was wonderful!

          The spiritual exercise didn't end there for me, though. I just couldn't get Aunt Etta and her date nut bread out of my mind. Aunt Etta was one of my favorites. She was my grandmother’s sister on my father’s side. She had a tough life – she raised her siblings while her parents worked; she was unable to have children; she lost her husband early; and she had very little to live on. But she always had a smile and a funny story for us, and she gave great bear hugs. The only time I ever saw her cross was when another driver cut my father off near Seaside Heights. She rolled down the window of the car and yelled, “I hope your pigeons die!”  We didn't get it either, but it must have been bad: she apologized for being so harsh. We spent almost every Christmas with my grandmother and Aunt Etta, and she always brought the date nut bread. She used to cry when we gave her gifts because she could only afford to give us the date nut bread. She never understood how much we LOVED it. She gave me the recipe once when I was a teenager, but it looked too complicated for me, so I never made it. Now I had to have it.

Aunt Etta

          I checked my recipe file and asked my mother to check hers. Alas, it was gone. A quick check of the internet revealed, however, that the recipe was pretty common in the 1920s/30s, and most of the recipes were nearly the same. So I grabbed one that sounded closest to what I remembered rejecting so many years ago and gave it a try. The recipe was not complicated, but it took some effort to chop the sticky dates and stir the thick batter. Knowing that Aunt Etta made several of these each Christmas for her nieces and nephews, I was pretty impressed. The big test came this morning, though. I cut off a slice and gave it a good once over. It certainly looked like Aunt Etta’s date nut bread. A healthy sniff confirmed that it smelled like it too. But when I took a big bite, Aunt Etta came back to me. I saw her pretty smile; I heard her hearty laugh; and her big bear hug squeezed the breathe right out of me. It was Christmas . . . with Aunt Etta . . . if only for a moment.

          My date nut bread wasn't perfect (I think I overcooked it a little), but my time with Aunt Etta more than made up for it, and I thank God for that. I’m going to make another one and bring it (and Aunt Etta) to my sister’s house on Christmas. We’ll see then if it passes muster with my mother, brother and sisters. No doubt we’ll share stories with our children of Christmases past, and tell them all about Aunt Etta and her date nut bread. It will be wonderful. Who would have thought that a little Christmas baking would be such a powerful spiritual exercise?